


Mirage

by Maverocknroll



Series: Notorious [5]
Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, half of Jarlaxle's arsenal can be used as sex toys, oblique references to past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 17:23:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverocknroll/pseuds/Maverocknroll
Summary: After confronting his ghosts in Memnon, Artemis has been distant and withdrawn. Jarlaxle is determined to pull him out of his depression, but his plan doesn't quite go as expected...Prompt:Jarlaxle decides to put the feather in his hat to... alternate uses. Cue accidentally summoning the diatryma in the middle of sex.





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Legend_of_the_D_kinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Legend_of_the_D_kinkmeme) collection. 



> **Kinkmeme Prompt:**  
>  Jarlaxle decides to put the feather in his hat to... alternate uses. Cue accidentally summoning the diatryma in the middle of sex.
> 
> This is a continuation of my _Notorious_ series, so it's AU in that Jarlaxle didn't abandon Entreri to the dracolich and he and Entreri don't split after Memnon. I've decided not to actually write the Memnon bit, since I think we've tread over Entreri dealing with his trauma in other ways in this series already, but assume that it ends a little better since Entreri still trusts(?) Jarlaxle.

“I feel like I’m being cooked alive.”

Jarlaxle fanned himself with his hat, making a show of his discomfort as Artemis finished setting up their camp. He hated the desert, hated the stickiness of sweat and the angry glare of the sun. But most of all he hated the look on Artemis’ face, the vacant, closed-off expression he’d worn since they’d left Memnon and the corpses of Artemis’ “family”.

Jarlaxle knew that blood and ghosts clung closer than sweat and sand.

“The sun is setting,” Artemis said without sympathy, his stubble almost as dark as the shadows under his eyes. “And you have rings that protect you from the worst of the heat… and from doing most of the work, it seems.”

“But you do it so well, _abbil_!”

Artemis shot him a glare as he secured the last corner of the tent. They’d set themselves up apart from the caravan they traveled with, aware of the way the others watched them. Artemis’ magical tent had been an option but one that would have severed them from the group, and Jarlaxle had thought that Artemis needed something to _do_.

Not that Jarlaxle couldn’t think of another distraction or two once they were fed and watered.

For now, Artemis sat back, plopping onto the ground, the shifting sand beneath him all too accurate a metaphor. He was _tired_ , a bone-deep kind of tired, but at least when Jarlaxle shifted closer, his shadow blocked the worst of the sun.

Jarlaxle’s hand was cool on his cheek when he reached down, and Artemis hated how readily he leaned into that simple touch. Jarlaxle sank to the ground next to him, arm slipping around his neck to pull him close, that damn hat broad enough to shield both their faces.

“You realize that… _cuddling_ isn’t going to help with the overheating?” Artemis muttered, though he made no move to pull away.

“If I am going to melt, then so must you,” Jarlaxle decreed, teeth tugging at Artemis’ earring. He was determined to make Artemis smile, but the man’s lips barely twitched. Jarlaxle rested his forehead against Artemis’ temple to whisper in an ear he wished were still elf-sensitive. “And I can think of better ways to overheat.”

Artemis sighed but still didn’t pull away. “That truly is all you think about, isn’t it?”

“That’s not true. Sometimes, I think about food.”

Another thin twitch of Artemis’ lips but still no smile. And it occurred to Jarlaxle that _one_ of them needed to be thinking of food, since he doubted Artemis was. The man had barely eaten since they’d left Memnon.

“I can summon a feast,” Jarlaxle offered. “And a bottle of wine. Or two.”

Finally, Artemis extricated himself from the clinging drow. “I’ll just have rations.”

Jarlaxle frowned as he watched the man disappear into their tent.

 

When the chill of a desert night set in, Jarlaxle at least managed to convince Artemis of the benefit of shared body heat. He lamented the smaller tent, his hat catching on the canvas and disrupting the angle of an otherwise delectable kiss.

“Damn hat,” Artemis huffed against Jarlaxle’s cheek, hands too busy with Jarlaxle’s pants to swat it away himself. Artemis’ shirt had already disappeared into a corner of the tent, Jarlaxle’s vest and pant laces open, and Jarlaxle really did need to invest in an item to dispel clothes.

Jarlaxle grinned as his fingers pulled open the laces of Artemis’ pants, teasing over the heat of him through the fabric. “I think you like the hat.”

“Really?” Artemis drawled, breathless at the light touch of Jarlaxle’s fingers. “After I’ve threatened to destroy the thing how many times?”

“I suspect that’s just how you show affection. You’ve threatened to stab me just as many times, and yet here you are, with your hands on my ass.”

“I have more uses for your ass than your hat.” A ghost of his usual humor, but still no smile.

Jarlaxle chortled, sitting up on his knees to let Artemis tug his waistband down his thighs. “You have just not appreciated all its uses yet, _mal’ai_.” His hat hit the roof of the tent, falling low over his nose.

Artemis leaned back to keep the brim out of his face. “I’m sure.”

Jarlaxle sighed and relented, finally, ducking his head to sweep the hat off of it. He considered the myriad toys inside but opted for something simple, plucking the red diatryma feather from the band.

Artemis eyed it curiously. “If you are still angling for a threesome, I have to warn you: this is not the way to get it.”

Jarlaxle chuffed, sitting up out of Artemis’ lap enough to wriggle out of his pants completely before settling back on top of him, feather in hand. “I suspect even I might draw the line at that. No, _mal’ai_ …” Jarlaxle ran the feather over Artemis’ cheek and slowly down the side of his neck.

Artemis moved in what could have been either a shiver or a squirm, leaning away from the feather automatically before turning a narrow-eyed look at Jarlaxle. The drow just offered him a devilish smirk, the kind Artemis would deny went straight to his blood.

“Lie back, _ssin’urn_ ,” Jarlaxle purred, a hand on Artemis’ chest nudging him down, and for a moment Jarlaxle was grateful for darkvision and the ability to appreciate the man’s shape in any kind of lighting.

“A feather? Really?”

That didn’t stop the shiver that passed through him when the feather slid down his throat again and over his chest. His stomach muscles tightened in reflex as the feather brushed lower still, a soft, barely there contact teasing over his lower stomach and—

Artemis sucked in a breath, hips canting up. “Jarlaxle…” He reached for the troublesome drow, but Jarlaxle just swatted his hands away.

“Hands over your head,” Jarlaxle said with a voice like steel and velvet.

Artemis quirked an eyebrow, a look that said Jarlaxle didn’t get to give _him_ orders, only to obey him the next moment, reaching his hands up and clasping them over his head. Jarlaxle perched on his thighs and made a show of enjoying the sight beneath him, Artemis with mussed hair and kiss-swollen lips, pants undone and pulled down past his hips. He took wicked delight in the way Artemis’ muscles tensed and twitched at the barest brush of the feather, skin unused to such light touches.

Artemis let out a shuddering breath as the feather brushed low again, thighs flexing under Jarlaxle, hips seeking more friction than the feather’s faint tickle. “Jarlaxle…” he said again, a desperate growl in his voice.

“Yes, _ssin’urn_?” Jarlaxle purred, teasing the feather up his body again, sweeping it over his nose to watch his face scrunch.

Artemis’ face did scrunch only to screw tight, a violent sneeze launching the feather from Jarlaxle’s hand, a sneeze that sounded like—

“Oh no,” Jarlaxle breathed, just before the small space erupted in a chaos of red feathers and squawking.

The diatryma bucked and screeched, trying to run out of the tent only to run with it instead, dragging it over the sand while Jarlaxle and Artemis scrambled over each other like startled cats, buffeted by wings and claws and trying to disentangle themselves from the canvas and each other.

The diatryma continued on, squawking, running roughshod over the rest of the camp. Screams and shrieks from the caravan rent the air, the tear of fabric and the clatter of pots falling and breaking following in its wake.

Jarlaxle pushed himself up onto his elbows while Artemis laid there dazedly, deep scratches on one arm and sand in his hair. The open air rose gooseflesh on Jarlaxle’s body, his ribs smarting where he’d caught Artemis’ knee in the scuffle, and there was sand in places he didn’t want to think about. He watched the disaster with a shake of his head.

“Summon it back,” Jarlaxle said, getting Artemis’ attention with a swat to his thigh.

“What?” Artemis balked, twisting to see where the bird had gone. “Why?”

“Because you’re the one who summoned it.”

“ _And_?”

“And that means you’re the only one who can command it. Summon it back!”

“I repeat: _why_?”

“So we can _dismiss it_.” Jarlaxle huffed, casting about for his pants.

Artemis grumbled but pushed himself up to his knees, lacing himself up first so there was at least a layer of fabric between him and the murder-bird’s beak. “ _Bird_! Get back here!”

More squawking answered his command, but the beast seemed to calm now that it had an order to focus on. It shook its head, and the tent slid back to its shoulders, resting there like a cape as it tottered back over. It looked at Artemis expectantly with wide, black eyes.

Artemis looked back and forth between the bird and Jarlaxle. “You are dismissed,” he told the bird, unsure if that was the right wording but nodding his head with a confidence he didn’t feel.

With a final, parting squawk, the bird disappeared in a puff of feathers, one large, red one fluttering to the ground. Artemis picked up the feather and turned it over in his fingers.

The rest of the caravan stared at them, half hidden behind their wagons, but Jarlaxle just watched Artemis and held his breath. How angry would the man be, he wondered? Particularly with how cut off he had been since Memnon?  How long before he’d let Jarlaxle touch him again? He watched as Artemis’ shoulders started to shake.

“ _Abbil_?” Jarlaxle asked tentatively, worried until Artemis’ wheezing sort of laugh filled the night. Artemis flopped into the sand on his back, peals of laughter still bubbling up from his chest.

“What in the actual Hells, Jarlaxle?” Artemis managed between gasps, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Jarlaxle smiled before he was aware of the action, a tightness in his chest easing at finally, _finally_ seeing that smile on his face again. “You know I like being adventurous in the bedroom.”

Jarlaxle knelt over Artemis, hands in the sand to either side of Artemis’ head. Even covered in sand and sweat, face sunken with exhaustion, his human was beautiful. Artemis huffed and shoved Jarlaxle back with a hand on his chest.

“That was a tent. One you’re putting up this time.”

Jarlaxle cackled, catching the hand on his chest in both of his, raising Artemis’ knuckles to his lips. “Ah, _mal’ai_. Erecting ‘tents’ is my specialty.” He winked, dropping his gaze suggestively down to Artemis’ crotch.

Artemis shoved him back with a hand on his face. “And you can let me know when you find a way for _that_ to protect you from the desert.”

 


End file.
